


Pretty Kíli

by Questions3



Series: Prompt Fills [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Female Bilbo, Insecurity, Insults, Pirateking, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 14:56:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9128974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Questions3/pseuds/Questions3
Summary: Pirateking:anyone/anyone: someone gets their feelings hurt and the other takes offence on their behalf-where some one outside the company insults a member (calling them ugly, or dumb or something) and one of the members takes huge offence.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pirateking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirateking/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Prompts for everyone!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242676) by [Pirateking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pirateking/pseuds/Pirateking). 



            It was apparent early in the quest, though she was hardly familiar enough with dwarf culture to see it. True they were hardly subtle in their curiosity over her own bare face and furry feet, but they were hardly forthcoming with the whys and wherewithal surrounding their curiosity. All Bilbo had to go on was what she could gleam from observations and, though she noted the peculiarity early, she hardly put it all together till much, much later.

            What she did know, right off, was that she was far too old to be gallivanting about with children. Middle aged as she was, it was absolutely ridiculous of her. Even so, she was rather helpless when it came to the princely pair. They had been some of her favorites almost instantly. Curious lads where the rest were very much insulated in their dwarfish ways, the boys were easy to talk to and very friendly, though often too quick to tease.

            “So how’d we manage to steal you so easily from those hills?” Fíli asked as he lounged in that negligent way he tried so desperately to affect. Bilbo was positive he thought it rather haughty but it only served to make his youth that much more obvious.

            Scrunching her nose in confusion the hobbit asked the brother, “What do you mean?”

            Kíli answered from his seat to the side of the pair where he was tending to his fletching, “Surely there’s a melekhûn army waiting to gut the lot of us for spiriting away with one of their fairest ladies,” that easy grin made something inside the grown hobbit tightly curl as the lad’s deep brown eyes made their way to her own.

            Her face was warm as heat wrapped around the shame she felt thinking about her singular status, “You need not have any worries over that, Master Kíli. I’m a bit odd among my people, hardly worth the effort to court let alone chase.”

            She’d cast her gaze away from the pair back to her cooling dinner, or she would have seen the open concern on Fíli’s face and the tic that had developed from the fierce clench in Kíli’s jaw. “Well, that’s not here nor there. If the silly Halflings couldn’t see your value you’ll find many a suitor once we’ve taken the Mountain,” Fíli’s confidence always flowed easily in his speech, even so this made the little hobbit turn back to the brothers with a small grin. Seeing the lift in her mood he continued, “You’ll be fighting them off with Bombur’s ladle!”

            “Bombur’s ladle?! I’d never allow her to face such hordes on her own! Besides, she’s our hobbit! None shall have her so long as I’ve arrows in my quiver and a sword in my hand!” the young Durin decried passionately as he grasped said sword to his chest and maneuvered to be kneeling in front of the now amused hobbit, happy to see her blushing once more instead of that crestfallen appearance from before.

            “You’re both ridiculous!” Bilbo cried as she chuckled softly over the nonsensical boys, trying to ignore the way her gaze kept falling more and more on a pair of soulful brown eyes.

            Fíli suddenly leaned forward and pushed his brother over, causing the lad to tumble onto his side, “Hush you! Your swordplay isn’t up to par for the task. Perhaps I’ll just take her for my own now and end the matter for good.” The blonde sent her one of his ridiculous winks, irresistible if you were talking to him.

            Kíli’s face maintained a grin, but there was a bit more teeth to it as he furrowed his brow and rose to push his brother back, “You?! Why would she want you?! You and your ridiculous mustache! It looks like you soldered a rat’s tail to your lip,” the lad chuckled as his brother glanced at him in offence.

            “At least I _have_ facial hair, you’re smooth as an elf!” the blonde chuckled as he pet his offended follicles down.

            For a moment, Kíli’s face seemed to freeze. It was very alarming for Bilbo who’d only ever seen the lad animated and vibrant. But in the next minute he’d thrown himself at his brother, “FOR BILBO’S HONOR!” and the pair were off tussling around in the dirt laughing as they went, Bilbo standing off to the side in amused concern.

            Finally Dwalin came over to the pair and grabbed them by their necks, slamming their heads together before dumping them back onto the ground, “Tha lass ain’t havin’ either of ye dainty faced bastards. Now shut up and get back to the ponies!”

***

            And, of course, her handicap of being _not_ a dwarf was only compounded by her personal feelings of inadequacy. Something that was frightfully outlined time and again through the trip, though none so much as when they were at Rivendell. It had been one thing while they were on the road; her elfish features were not so glaring, but to be surrounded by the tall folk? It was a mercy Thorin didn’t come right up to her and sheer her ears off. Not to mention it was practically insulting to be compared to them in the first place. They were beautiful with long straight tresses and shimmering alabaster skin. Nary a wrinkle or stain on any of them. Not even calloused though most were fierce warriors. They were pristine beings of glowing beauty and fortitude.

            She, on the other hand, was a dumpy middle-aged hobbit spinster. Her hair was fretful at best, downright unruly at worst and the devil itself when it was feeling ornery and wet. Her skin was never alabaster and whatever paleness she retained was only in patches hidden under her clothes. Tanner parts stuck out, her arms and calves and her face. Not to mention the myriad of freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks, blemishing more of the already damaged covering. Wrinkles, though not rampant, had certainly begun to make their presence known; around her eyes was the worst of it, right at the corners, where she smiled. Had she realized how this would go she might not have been such a cheerful child after all. Then there was her weight, which she was also finding herself becoming self-conscious over. It was bad enough to be surrounded by others that didn’t have the same views on girth as hobbits did, but then even by her hobbit standards, with the meager fare they’d had thus far, her own plump stomach had shrunken alarmingly. There was nothing about her just now that wasn’t causing some form of insecurity to run rampant in her curly head and she desperately wished she could just find a sack and burrow in it for the rest of the Age.

            Of course, there was nothing like that at Rivendell and even had there been she would have been surprised how eagerly she’d have been sought out, by one dwarrow in particular. “There you are! Miss Boggins dinner’s already started. What self respecting hobbit is late for a meal?”

            Turning from the small mirror pond she’d been staring into, cataloguing everything that was dissatisfactory about herself, she found the youngest Durin making his way over to her small sanctum. She could barely conjure an answering smile for the lad as he approached, “One who may need a bit of trimming perhaps? Or don’t you find the slenderness of our hosts appealing either?” Nodding her head at the small gathering across the way from them playing music by the pond.

            The lad’s smile faded a bit as he glanced over at a gaggle of the Tall Folk. Brow scrunched he replied, “Well they’re limber. I saw a few training just this morning and there’s a certain grace to their works. Though nothing as us dwarrow,” the smile he shot her was all impudent playfulness.

            But Bilbo wasn’t feeling so playful as she watched the group plucking at what must be something beautiful sounding. She hadn’t any of that either, grace that is, or the talents of her companions. She was just a stodgy old hobbit who lived alone and got into nonsense far over her head. “They are a lovely people aren’t they?

            Kíli’s gaze sharpened suddenly. He glanced at her, brow drawn and mouth frowning in confusion, and then glanced at the elves, then back at her, then back at the elves. Coming back to her his eyes widened comically as his mouth dropped open a bit lax before snapping shut and chuckling in her face. Bilbo’s lips thinned as she clenched her jaw, either way they began to tremble a little as she turned her eyes to stare at her feet. Just before she lost the fight completely she felt a calloused finger catch her chin and lift it towards fond brown eyes, “Don’t compare yourself to the weed eaters Bilbo, you’re far prettier than any ten of them.” Her frowning disbelief was paused by that same calloused finger pressing softly into her plump lips, “No, you are. You’re both delicate and soft looking, but you’re sturdy too. I’ve no fear I’ll break you just by looking at you. Grace on the battlefield is learned, even without it you showed more than enough skill dodging us in your burrow,” and here his soft smile became something this side of cheeky, “But even without all that you have something they’ll never have.”

            She was fighting a loosing battle with a fond smile as she read the assurance in the lad’s face; he really wanted her convinced of his genuineness. With a trembling lift to the corners of her lips she trained damply amused ambers onto his earnest face, “Oh? And what is that then? Hairy feet?”

            Something shifted in the tight expression as the lad’s smile turned a bit softer at the edges and his coffee gaze turned towards something more affectionate than amused or solemn, “And a lovely pair of fuzzy appendages they are!”

            She laughed at the nonsensical cad as she felt her face bloom into a heated blush. Really, one’s feet were _not_ proper conversation outside of courting couples. Even then it could be quite scandalous, not that she expected Kíli to be aware of the impropriety. And she was beginning to realize she didn’t mind a little impropriety half as much as she’d originally let on.

            “Really! They’re clean crisp curls. So well tended and groomed! You’d be the envy of dwarrow everywhere! Puts even Dori’s pristine beard and braids to shame! I’m hardly worthy of standing near hair so fine, smooth as I am.” Perhaps a shadow passed through those coffee eyes, fleetingly, but he was incorrigible, and seemed to be only goaded further in his nonsense by the glowing pink in her cheeks and trailing up into her pointed ears. Whatever shadows had crept through him were swiftly set aside for an even larger smile and twinkling amusement as the burglar tried to hide her flaming cheeks. He grabbed nimble hands with his own before she could hide behind them, the soft strength a dry warmth radiating into her palms. With a rumbling chuckle he tweaked a loose curl from her forehead and turned the pair towards the dining hall where the rest of the lads were still causing a ridiculous fuss over the lack of meat.

***

            There was a great deal of ugliness thereafter, not much time for anything beyond terror and screaming. But after everything came to a head at the Carrock and the days they spent recuperating at Beorns she’d felt herself finally settle into the dwarrow. Though with this new acceptance and the past few days of horror and mayhem the Took-Baggins thought perhaps learning to defend, if not anyone else, at least herself wouldn’t go amiss. No need to be a burden once more after all, she’d just gotten on the Company’s collective good side.

            Of course that was before Dwalin had started using her as something squishy to toss around. “Again lass! Yer still too slow. And yer holdin’ yer blade too loose.” There was something manic in the trainer’s eyes as he narrowed onto the panting hobbit where she desperately tried to scramble back to her feet once more, only to tumble herself backwards again.

            “Hey now, she’s doin’ pretty well!” she could kiss that lad where he stood with the rest of the mangy bastards watching her disgrace. At least Kíli was encouraging. She couldn’t get to her feet just yet so it wasn’t likely to happen, but the sentiment burned inside her.

            The rest were disparaging, “Of course, she’s at least pointing the sharp end at her foe now,” Fíli could very well go to Mordor for all the sentiment she was feeling at the moment.

            “Well it’s not as though she’d been trained beforehand. At least she’s getting something like coordination. And she’s actually very quick,” Kíli’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at his chuckling brother.

            “Oh aye, she does run at quite a clip when Dwalin starts chargin’. In the wrong way but it’s still somethin’,” Bofur’s cheery observation was received in the same vein as Fíli’s.

            “Maybe she’s not meant for hand to hand?” Ori was suddenly her favorite dwarf as he began to try and extricate his littlest friend from the pain and anguish she’d unwittingly walked herself into.

            “Yes! Maybe something different… Without… without being airborne,” she panted out as she slowly crawled over to the porch, hoping to sneak into the house where she could hide from these vicious, vicious people.

            Suddenly she found herself being carefully lifted onto her feet; strong hands keeping firm grip on her still swaying form as she brought her hands up to rest on body warmed cloth. Looking up she found concerned coffee eyes staring back at her. Sighing tiredly she all but groaned, “Take me away from the rest of these hairy heathens.”

            The lot of them started hooting at the, what she had meant to be a slight, but was received as the highest of compliments. Dwalin was standing where he’d _been_ standing this whole afternoon (she hadn’t even shifted a hair on his beard that rock headed _bastard_ ) arms crossed in satisfaction as he stroked a hand through his mangy facial hair. Thorin and Balin were just shaking their heads as they watched the rest of the troop express themselves, though there was clear approval in their eyes. Glóin had to explain to Óin the hell was going on but the brothers were patting themselves on the back. The Ri’s were all in a state, Ori blushing bashfully, Dori puffing up like a peacock and Nori chuckling as he sent the hobbit a lascivious wink the shameless flirt. Fíli and Bofur were both bowing and complimenting each other and Bombur was warmly smiling as he watched the idiots, also vastly pleased with himself. Bifur was grumbling into his beard and rolling his eyes at the lot of them, though he did nod in thanks to the little lass. Turning her puzzled gaze back to the dwarf helping her stay on her feet she found his own smile a bit tight and the coffee of his eyes stained in shadow.

            It took her addled brains a moment to understand the enormity of what was happening here and when she did she glowered at the ridiculous boy and announced for all in the courtyard to hear, “You’re my favorite, Kíli, the only one I’m not wishing mange on and I like you very much just as you are. Now feed me before I collapse atop you.”

            It didn’t shut the ridiculous louts up but it made that softly fond smile come back to Kíli’s face as he nodded, “As you wish Miss Boggins,” before supporting her into the dwelling. She tried very hard to ignore the lad for the rest of the evening but found herself glancing in his direction every now and, well, _now_. Bilbo couldn’t decide if it was better or worse that she’d inevitably catch the Prince staring at her as well. On the one hand she blushed twice as hard, on the other she really was fond of his easy smiles.

***

            Nothing came of anything, and that includes the ‘training’ she went through because a few stolen hours didn’t make one battle ready. And that’s exactly what they ended up having, a large _bloody_ battle. Hobbits weren’t made for war; they weren’t fashioned for violence. Life, in a way, was a by-product of death. Through it there was rebirth and growth. But not this. Not this blood drenched field, littered in the broken and the lost, the dead and the dying. All that grew from this was grief and despair. Loss and heartache plagued the footsteps of all the survivors as they stumbled out of the fields and back to their diminished and diminishing kin.

            It took the Company three days to find Bilbo. She’d been knocked unconscious during the battle and had suffered fiercely for it. Finally Nori stumbled upon the sad lass as she stumbled back to them over the death and decay. Her curls were half glued to her head as blood from a head wound plastered her hair and coated the left side of her face, lips chapped and broken, clothes heavily torn and dirtied. After rushing her to the healing tents Óin and the elves confirmed she was in shock as well as heavily concussed. They were actually surprised she hadn’t perished on the field, drifting off in her sleep after the initial hit, or even afterwards during the freezing cold nights that had begun to reach the lands. Winter setting in quickly as the three allies tried to race against the weather to move their wounded and people into the relative protection of the Mountain.

            Bilbo was still fuzzy the next morning but aware enough to demand to see her dwarrow. Most were fine, unharmed but for some scratches and bruising. Nori had sprained an ankle and arm, Bofur’s nose was never really straight to begin with, and Dwalin was sporting a set of bruised ribs and a busted leg. As was expected from the line of Durin at this point, the royals were actually the worse off. Thorin had near been crushed by Azog’s attack, his survival was tentative, but so long as he continued to breath and wake intermittently throughout the days it became more and more positive. The lad’s hadn’t faired that much better. Fíli had been shot, multiple times defending his brother, his lung had been punctured and he was still having problems breathing and would be for a goodly while yet. Kíli had nearly lost his sword arm, cut in twain trying to rally for his kin.

            It took a week before Thorin was aware enough to speak with his exiled burglar and beg forgiveness as only the dramatic oaf could, better place indeed. Fíli was reduced to wheezing and signing for the most part, and being scolded viciously when he tried to leave his bed or speak too much. Kíli had taken one look at the bandaged hobbit and smiled, “Love the hair.”

            The next months would be filled with healing and tribulations. The refugees of Laketown were employed to aid in the clearing and cleaning of Erebor while they remained in the Mountain. Meetings and planning for the refurbishing of Esgaroth and Dale were made and financed by Erebor in a gesture of goodwill and thanks as their allies had come to stand for them. The winter was harsh on the disenfranchised nations. With the help of the elves the dwarrow and Men survived to see spring. All a little thinner, all a bit bruised, but all alive and looking forward to their new futures out of the shadow of fire and nightmares.

            It was as the snow began to melt and the weather turned sunny that Bilbo found herself looking more and more often to the West.

            “You’re leaving aren’t you?” Kíli’s eyes wouldn’t meet Bilbo’s as she sat beside his sickbed reading through a tomb she’d salvaged from the libraries. She’d taken a side job of restoration with Ori when they’d rediscovered the troves of knowledge. She was only able to work on the Westron translations but it was work that she felt good at and enjoyed in her quieter moments. Not that they were many. But it kept her busy during her vigils near the young Durins’ beds, the second most likely place you’d find her, the first being the kitchens with Bombur trying to feed two nations of people.

            Glancing up she found the lad was fisting his uninjured hand in the covers, his jaw tight as he stared harshly at his lap. Nervously she licked her lips and placed her work aside before turning to the lad. They’d been getting so close since the Battle. They’d always been close, but seeing as the prince had nowhere to go and nothing he could do to entertain himself while his body knit itself back together again Bilbo had volunteered to keep the energetic lad company. The pair spent hours chatting and joking, talking about their families and homes. Bilbo was almost sure she’d recognize the Lady Dís in a hall of dwarrowdam from the descriptions she’d been given and Kíli was going to make seven meals a day a royal decree once things were no longer so dire. It made Bilbo’s heart fill to see the lad light up when she walked through the door for their daily chats and she found that getting more and more disturbing. She was much too old to be getting flustered over a young dwarf in his prime. It was ridiculous and she wasn’t sure she could actually spend too much longer in these halls without becoming something rather tragic. Not to mention she missed her own home desperately and wished to make sure it still stood now that her adventure was over. But she didn’t think any of these would take the scowl off her scruffy prince’s face, not that she wasn’t going to try, “It’s my home Kíli.”

            The scowl deepened, reminding her scarily of his uncle, “ _This_ could be your home! You belong with us Bilbo! The Company!” brown eyes flashed over to her own and begged silently for some reassurance, for her to tell him it was all nonsense and she’d remain by their side forevermore.

            But she couldn’t, “It has been an honor and a privilege, one you could never fathom, to have met and traveled with you, all of you.” Bilbo grasped the clenched hand on the bed between her own smaller and sent a beseeching look of her own towards the youth, praying he would understand, “And I will miss you all like I miss my dearest relations. You’ve all become so important to me. But I’ve been gone from my books and garden and home for so long. The home I shared with my parents, that I share with my family now.”

            “You live alone,” the pout was weak as he clasped the tiny hands in his own for a moment, pushing aside his feelings of loss for a moment to hear what the hobbit was saying.

            Bilbo smiled timidly, “You know what I mean. Besides!” and here she smiled brightly as she pulled on the lad’s hand to get his attention once more, “I’ll come back for visits! I could hardly leave forever. You’re all as much, if not more, family as anyone in the Shire is to me. And I’m sure with distance I’ll even eventually miss your abhorrent table manners.”

            The lad gave her a weak chuckle and flat smile as he turned large heart breaking brown eyes to her, his uninjured hand coming up to rub at his chin, “And maybe by the time you return I’ll even have a beard for you to admire as I admire your feet.”

            Her heart clenched before it sank into the pit of her stomach as she gave the youngest Durin a soft smile and reached a small hand out to brush over the prickly whiskers. Kíli’s own smile fell away as something a bit more intense and darker shaded his eyes as he watched her. Looking into his brown orbs she nodded, “Not too much though, it wouldn’t do to come back and no longer recognize my… my favorite Prince.”

            His smile was back and far more reminiscent of his usual tender grin as he reached up and clasped her hand under his own and brought their brows together, “Be safe, my favorite burglar.”

***

            Construction and alliances forged and fortified, peoples housed and fed, a mountain cleaned and set to rights. It took time, but five years after the battle found a nascent dwarrow nation, finally readying to hold its very first official ceremony, one to celebrate and finally acknowledge the great deeds done by the Company and a Coronation of the King and Crown Princes.

            Durin’s Day was deemed appropriate, as it was also the anniversary of their taking back the mountain in the first place. The mountain was abuzz as last minute preparations took place preparing for guests to arrive. The elves of Rivendell and Mirkwood had been invited, much to Thorin’s annoyance, but the one had helped them greatly at the beginning of their quest and the second was a strong ally to maintain. King Bard of Dale would also be arriving in a fortnight with some of his people and his children, followed by the Master of Laketown, though no one really enjoyed having him underfoot, it would have been a slight to the people of Laketown to deny him. Even Gandalf was due to arrive later in the evening, earlier than most as he had offered his poppers to entertain the masses.

            There was only one thing missing from the planned festivities, more like person. Bilbo had yet to send a response to the letter inviting her to participate as one of the original Company. She was to be honored for her deeds done in the name of Erebor and be named Dwarf Ally, but as the days grew shorter and the nights longer it looked more and more likely they would be honoring a memory and not a person.

            Thorin, showing just how much he had grown as a person and King in the past six years, announced at breakfast a month after the invitation had gone out that she was not coming and it was a fool idea to think the Hobbit would brave the Wilds once more for their cursed hides. Dwalin was grumbling about the training grounds three months in, saying it was no less than they deserved before taking his angst out on the newest cadets. Five months heard Glóin screaming his opinion at Óin. Six saw the Urs looking very downcast indeed; Bifur became damn menacing to be near and Bofur hadn’t been seen near a pub in weeks. Seven and Ori looked just heartbroken while Dori tried to maintain a stiff level of disinterest which fooled absolutely no one. Thus disheartened, the only members of the original company who were not taken by surprise three weeks before Durin’s Day rolled around by a bedraggled hobbit lass eating her way through a breakfast banquet that was supposed to be for thirteen dwarrow and their families were Nori, who’s occupation did not allow him to be taken by surprise, thus making him an excellent judge of character (and really the little cuss’d been turnin’ them all on their ears since they’d stumbled into her smial to begin with), and Kíli who knew better than to underestimate their burglar.

            It surprised no one, however, when Dís took one look at the painfully apologetic Halfling and carted her off to her own suite to be tended. The two became fast companions and reveled in bemoaning the lack wits they were charged with caring for.

***

            As a member of the Company and thus Dwarf friend and champion, as well as an unofficial ambassador of sorts (not that the Shire was going to be doing much business with the Dwarves of Erebor, but she continued to be the only one of the Company who could stomach being with the Elves for more than the time it took to draw a breath), Bilbo was given a Royal Suite near the Durins and the rest of the Company had instantly gone to work preparing something for their returned burglar to wear during the Coronation. At the end of it all Bilbo stood feeling rather ridiculous in her Mithril armor over a form fitting yellow tunic (in deference to her yellow waistcoat that had been utterly destroyed during their journey) that had been embroidered with runes describing her ‘Silver Tongue’ and ‘Golden Wit’. There were red leggings beneath that glimmered with concealed golden threads, but she drew her line at the boots. Dori had taken her aside that morning and spent hours taming her ridiculous curls into as many small braids as he could possibly manage, leaving a rather sleek look to their normally poofy hobbit. Sting wrapped her waist and she’d never looked less a hobbit or felt half so happy and content.

            And that’s how we found the hobbit lass storming about the halls in her new finery. It was moments before the Durins coronation and no one had seen hide or hair of the youngest. The lads were all looking here and there, attempting to seem nonchalant but we all know how dwarves viewed tact. Either way, they’d never have found him regardless. He’d squirreled himself so far up in the scaffolding of one of the reconstructed halls only someone with equal or better eyesight as the archer and a similar lithe figure could find their way up there. So the Burglar was once again implemented into her role. “So, what exactly are we looking for here then hmm? Another dragon attack? I’m pretty sure you’re not quite due one for at least another few centuries.”

            The lad looked at her with a strain in that easy grin that turned it rather brittle, “I can’t do this Bilbo.”

            The smile worried her as much, if not more, than the words that had accompanied them. The youngest Durin should never look so downcast as this, a joyful soul, one of laughter and merriment. To see him as such caused a frown to mar her brow. “Kíli,” she placed a soft hand on the lad’s arm to convey comfort as she tried to reassure the fears running through the taut warrior, “you’re not even being crowned King, dear. And should anything happen Fíli’s the heir.”

            Frustration turned the brittle strain into something quicker and heated as the archer thrust his arm away from the calming hand, “Things happen! Thorin wasn’t supposed to be the King of a people in exile but there you have it! I’ve not even a full beard yet! I can’t be responsible for a _kingdom_!” rough hands rubbed over said face and thrust up into ornately braided locks with no small amount of disgust.

            She rolled her eyes, trailed a hand through the braids she’d just set back to rights and slid it to the barefaced lad’s cheek, turning his to face her, “How hairy your arse is has nothing to do with your ability to rule. By that logic Nori should have a fair bid for the throne and I’d shudder to think of the torment that would unleash onto the population. But if you’re so concerned with it all then we’ll just have to make sure nothing happens to them, now won’t we?” At the disbelieving pout she took her hand and tapped curled knuckles to the stone head, “I think I’ve already proved I’m willing to go above and beyond all common sense for your family Kíli. And there’s some rather impressive scar tissue on your sword arm attesting to your own devotion,” at the remembrance of the extensive damage the lad had dealt himself during the Battle her lightly teasing face scrunched into distaste, worry casting a shadow in her amber gaze as it trailed over said shoulder.

            Regardless of her misgivings this seemed to be along the right track as Kíli chuckled lightly and turned a slightly bashful face down towards the floor, left hand reaching up to rub at his abused shoulder. Suddenly there was a shift in his bearing, he seemed to clench up some, turning to stare at her confused face a moment as his shoulders braced and he took a deep breath. “Bilbo, I –”

            “Lad! It’s about bleedin’ time we found you! Thorin was abou’ to send a contingent out to the Elf Wood to find your arse. And ye’ve managed to talk the damn Burglar into encouraging your nonsense too no doubt,” Glóin’s ornery grumbling was heard from below as the red haired father waved the pair down, Gimli standing beside him, smirking at his caught cousin.

            The prince rolled his eyes and announced in his most put upon fashion, “COMING! It’s not as though it’s _my_ coronation after all! I’m just the _Prince of Erebor_. You’d think the thing would be at _my_ leisure.” Grumbling all the way down he gave the perched burglar a quick wink before running off with his cousins.

            Bilbo sat there for a moment more, gathering her own breath as she contemplated her own part in the upcoming ceremony. She was a hobbit among dwarves, and one about to be given title and rank at that. Shaking her head a bit, leaning back on her hands, she felt the heat from the vacated seat. Her lips pursed as she started wondering just what it was the little prince was about to tell her…

            “It really won’t do for us to find one heir only to loose a member of the honored champions, Lady Bilbo,” came a fond voice as the Lady Dís stepped into the hall. She watched as the curly head popped up and found confusion giving way to rueful mirth.

            “I apologize Lady Dís, where have my manners run off to,” Bilbo began her trek down the scaffolding, only loosing her grip for a moment when the Princess of Erebor continued.

            “From the looks of it they seem to be rubbing off on my son,” the older dwarrowdam’s smile was rampant with amusement at the short misstep in the hobbit’s descent, “Of course, they could rub off for centuries to come and you’d still have more manners than any ten dwarrow, and my son would still be as wild as a warg pup.”

            Lithely landing on her feet, enjoying the small jingling of her mithril armor and the ceremonial beads she’d allowed Ori and Dori to dress her in, the burglar smiled up at the charmingly intimidating mother, “He’s a good lad, just young yet is all.”

            The Princess held her tongue and merely began to lead them out and towards the ceremony.

***

            After the ceremony, of course there was a large party. It was one of the few times the hobbits and dwarrow culture saw eye to eye. Anything worth doing was worth a party. It was also the first time Bilbo’d been cleaned up and dressed to impress since being with the company. Dwarven dress, but very impressive nonetheless. The heavy copper brocade Dís had brought her was doing wonders keeping her warm in the winter touched mountain, and she’d kept the braids from the ceremony for the moment, though she was a touch subconscious about the way the corseted bodice thrust her chest up, with her plumper form and assets she could use her breasts as a serving platter the way they were strangled in the thing. It felt almost like armor in its own right as well, the structure was completely unbending. As she twirled into the room she caught the eyes of her friends and felt all misgivings slowly peter out. She’d been making her way over to the waving Bofur when she found herself suddenly swept into the middle of the room and an enchanting little dance by none other than Kíli. “I – no – Kíli! I don’t know these dances!” her whisper was frantic as she clutched tighter at the lad.

            Of course he didn’t take this in the way it was meant, instead laughing as he merely grasped her hand firmer and twined his arm around her waist, cinching her into his rather lean and impressively solid form, “I’ll not let you embarrass yourself Master Boggins!” And as she watched those laughing brown eyes she felt herself relax into the romp, allowing the music and the prince to lead her.

            “You see? You’re doing wonderfully!”

            “Well I have a fine partner.”

            “And clever feet,” he took this moment to twirl her into a quick step that she laughingly followed along with, only to spin her back into his waiting arms, “I see you’re truly beginning to embrace you new dwarven status, milady.”

            “Hobbit! Through and through, young master, and don’t you forget it!”

            “But look at you! Dancing like a dwarf, with a dwarf, hair braided back like a dwarf, and wearing this amazing formal wear. You’ve never looked grander,” there was an appreciative glint in the lad’s eye as he stared down into the amber eyes of his hobbit.

            A pink blush glowed through her as she accepted the perusal; “You’ve never seen me in anything dressy before to compare! All the Company’s ever seen me in were ripped, dirtied and torn breeches and tunics!”

            The third song came to a halt as the young Durin leaned down into the burglar, mumbling into her pointed ears, “Aye, and as pretty as you look then, seeing you like this makes a dwarrow yearn to muss you up something awful.” The wicked grin on the lad was all appreciation for the reddened cheeks as he gave her one last twirl and raised her hand to his lip in a final flourish before flying off to his brother’s side.

            It was much later in the evening when she was taking a turn on the dance floor with Bofur during a particularly festive jig that she heard something she could have rather done without. During a particularly violent twirl through the floor she swirled close to a seeming pack of young dwarrowdams, all talking about the young princes.

            “The blonde is gorgeous, and that braid work is magnificent. He’ll be something glorious when his beard comes in.”

            “But the younger one, uh. An Elf in dwarf armor.”

            “The tiny nose, and ears. And he’s practically bare as a bairn!”

            “No wonder the only creature that’s danced with the lad was that Halfling. Probably half elf herself!”

            She’d been spun back into Bofur’s arms and the midst of the dancing troops much too quickly to see who had actually made the comments but they sent her head to reeling. Once the jig whirled to an end she hugged her cheery friend and begged off for some refreshment. As she stood at the drinks table she surveyed the room. Almost all her dwarrow were having a time. Bofur had found another young thing to twirl around. Fíli was holding court at one side of the room. Thorin, Dís, Dwalin, and Balin were chatting with a large copse of advisors. Glóin and Óin were sitting with the young Gimli and the beautiful Vaíl. The Ri family was off with a pack of new merchant class dwarrow, save Nori who was flirting his way through the room. Finally Bifur was ghosting his cousin Bombur at the food tables. But it took her much longer than she’d like to admit to find Kíli. And even then Nori was the one who eventually pointed the youngest Durin out to her where he’d spirited himself away in a darker corner behind some rather large tapestries. Frowning she made her way over to him.

            He was staring into his ale when she stomped over, only glancing up after she cleared her throat, and then with his easy grin. Too easy. She’d begun to think maybe that smile hid more than it revealed. “Master Burglar. I see you’re taking a moment away from the revelries.”

            Bilbo gave him her own soft smile as she shook her head, “Hardly, merely looking for my preferred partner. Come Kíli, I’m sure I’m better company than that cup at least?” She extended her hand in timid invitation, her other clasping her dress nervously behind her back.

            Kíli’s grin transformed into something larger and brighter as he dropped his cup onto the floor and grasped the offered appendage, “There’s no better company to be had than that of my Lady Burglar, I assure you Miss Boggins.” This kiss was on her palm and sent sparks through her warmed blood as he gently led her onto the dance floor. They remained by each other’s side for the rest of the evening.

***

            Even if she had grasped the young prince was a little timid about his lack of follicular glory, it took a bit longer for her to realize how much an issue this was for the populace in general. The mutterings at the party had only been the beginning of Bilbo’s slow tutelage into dwarrow culture. The next came a few weeks later after the Mountain had settled into its winter routines.

            Kíli’d taken to teaching her to shoot, their daily rote now in the mountain, breakfast, meeting with Thorin, archery practice. She’d seen some of the older dwarrow practicing nearby muttering to each other, though not very quietly as she could hear their growling language. It made her self-conscious, thinking they were mocking her efforts on the field, but then she’d looked up at her instructor and seen the diverted gaze of the youngest Durin. Confused concern painting her face she loosened her notch and half turned, “Kíli?”

            Seeing her worry the prince offered his soft grin and wink as he shook his head, “That’s hardly the way to hit anything besides your own big feet.”

            “Hey!” big feet were a compliment in the Shire but she was sentient enough to know when she was being mocked.

            Of course before anything else could come forth from her hurt expression the lad had laid his hands around her own, adjusting her grip, his legs moving closer into hers to correct her lax stance. One large hand came up to rest at her hip as the lad chuckled, sending the rumble through her body at the sudden closeness, and the other turned her face towards the target, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her red and pointed ear as he instructed her breathing. It wouldn’t be till much later and well after the lad was out of her sight when she’d caught her breath and cooled the flush on her face that the hobbit would remember the mutterings from earlier.

***

            She never did find out what those older warriors had been muttering about. But she did find out who had been slighting her dear friend during the party.

            Bilbo had taken the afternoon to wander the dwarven market in the central halls. It was very likely throughout the day these caverns saw every occupant the Mountain had. So it was probably not so surprising that Bilbo overheard the wretched creatures tittering a stall away from where she was attempting to pick out a choice cut of lamb for a pie she wanted to make her younger friend.

            “Maybe he’s a changeling!”

            “A changeling?”

            “Haven’t you ever heard? It’s when elves creep into the homes of dwarrow and Men and take up their children leaving behind a deformed elfling in its place. The parents are none the wiser until well after the child has already broken their hearts.”

            There wasn’t anything for it, honestly. Had she been her old respectable self she’d have heard the tarts chatter and turned her nose up at them, maybe scolded them depending on their ages. After Trolls, Elves, Giant Spiders, Orcs, Goblins, Gollum, and a _fucking dragon_ it was rather surprising it took this long for the hobbit lass to finally snap. And the training she’d done with Dwalin over the journey hadn’t taken, but the tricks Nori’d been teaching her since her return had assured that the three dwarrowdams ended up in some serious hurt before they’d even the time to register they were under attack.

            The first was a robust blonde with painstakingly brushed and curled sideburns. She lost both and been tossed backwards into a weavers stall before her next breath. The second a blocky red head with barely any beard of her own, to be sure it was more than Kíli’s, but still stones and glass houses. Her _hair_ on the other hand was quite long and took a good while to stop smoldering once someone had the bright idea of taking a bucket to the girl’s flaming head. The third was also blonde, but darker, and her hair was up in two braided buns, her beard mirroring them on her chin. She was also a mite quicker than her fellows. She managed to thwart Bilbo’s initial attack and knock the candle she’d swiped from the stand behind them away before she could repeat the previous treatment. It didn’t last long, however, when the cunning burglar dropped to her hands and used her large, strong feet to sweep the tiny booted ones out from under her. The fall winded the nuisance and ended in her being sheered as Bilbo picked herself back up and stomped out of the halls.

            She was in such a huff as she stormed off she wasn’t taking the care she should have been and found herself slamming right into a wall of warm muscle. “Oh dear! I’m so- Kíli!”

            The dwarrow prince was looking down at the tiny Burglar he’d come to find where she stood still leaning into him, hands resting on his chest, his own having twined around her ample hips. His grin widened all the more as a deep flush trailed across plump cheeks and pert nose at being caught defending his honor. “Aw, you do care!” he cooed, chuckling at the look of consternation that began to replace the embarrassment.

            Bilbo’s gaze fell as she began to rustle and struggle out of the light grasp the youngest Durin had on her, unwilling to be the butt of this joke, “Hush you! It has nothing to do with anything of the sort! It’s just not fair _or_ polite to talk of ones rulers in such a disgraceful fashion. Especially not after they’ve risked life and limb to take back an entire mountain!” She twisted but the grip got steadily tighter as she went until she finally huffed and slapped both hands to the muscled chest and she turned her face upwards, eyes flashing, to demand to be released. Of course, nothing but a whimper escaped as she found her lips very occupied by the heated pair that began teasing her own. Bracing hands became grabbing as the hobbit pushed forward and up into the heated embrace of the young Durin, whose own hands trailed across the expanse of acceptable hobbit opening to him.

            “You do _not_ snog your intended in the open corridors!” Dís announced sharply as she slapped the lad in the head. As he dropped the object of his heated affections to yelp, Bilbo was given the opportunity to take in their surroundings and all the gawking dwarrow. A few were even beginning to help the dwarrowdams she felled to their feet, the dark blonde looking murderous as she began to advance on the mortified hobbit.

            Dís suddenly stepped in front of her soon to be daughter in law (come flood or dragon fire, the tiny hobbit was the only sensible thing in the damn Mountain and she’d not be seeing the backside of the little creature. Had she been there when she’d left the first time Dís may very well have been a grandmother by now), “Is there a problem?” Thorin was certainly a majestic creature, someone who embodied royalty and inspired people to take up arms. Dís was something _feral_ and had claws and eyes of a giant cave cat. It wasn’t a second before the lass’s gaze flew elsewhere and the three raced off to parts unknown.

            Then the mother turned back to her son and dragged him by the ear down the halls, berating him the entire way about proper courting behaviors.

            Bilbo was left to blink before racing after them. Maybe she’d find Bofur; he was always good about being ready with a nice solid drink.

***

            Bilbo was pacing her chambers later that night, fresh from her bath, which was supposed to be soothing and proved anything but as she’d found herself replaying the feel of the young prince against her. Not normally a problem but there was no solace in taking herself in hand when there was so much left unsettled. After his mother had taken him off she’d not seen him the rest of the day. There was no hashing out just what the hell had happened and she wasn’t completely sure she was going to last until morning as it were. She’d dressed again and fully intended to hunt the lad down when there was a knocking at her door.

            “Kíli!” was all Bilbo managed to breath as she found herself once more wrapped into a tight heated embrace, firm lips claiming hers rapidly and feverishly. A slick tongue pushed through mouth and tangled with her own, teeth nibbled as her plump bottom lip and hands roved the majority of her, exposed or no. It was the door slamming shut that reacquainted the hobbit with reality as she jerked back and away, though not very far as the lad still had her plastered to his front. She barely managed to slap her own hands to his chest, “Kíli!”

            With a groan the lad trailed his lips down her jaw, “I love the way you say my name. With that breathless catch, it drives me crazy.”

            “Ah, we… we can’t! We need to _talk_ damnit!” and suddenly Kíli had armfuls of struggling hobbit instead of just trembling hobbit. To be sure she was still doing that too but the struggling was troubling so he conceded.

            With a put upon sigh the lad moved to grasp the plump face between his thick hands, the callouses there sending a tremor through Bilbo as they trailed up her neck. Smile bright, if strained, the young Durin demanded, “Do you love me?”

            Amber eyes blew wide in frightful embarrassment as cheeks turned ruby and the struggling continued. Of course when a dwarf wanted a hobbit to remain where they were there was no real arguing with them. So Kíli continued to stare down at the lass, smile fading into something less sure, more hesitant as he asked, pleading in his voice near breaking Bilbo’s heart, “Do you?”

            Her mouth worked a moment before she swallowed and turned her eyes as far away as she was permitted, “Yes.”

            “Will you marry me?”

            Instantly amber eyes trained back on the apparently insane princeling, “ _What?!_ ”

            The lad’s smile was brilliant as he leaned down to capture her lips once more in something long and leisurely and tender. As he pulled back he rested his head against her own, hands trailing down to her sides, cinching her to him by her hips once more, (who’d know the overly large banes of her existence had such a handy use?) “Will… you… marry… me…” each word was accompanied with a swift kiss before the impertinent creature started nibbling at her lips.

            “You’re a prince!”

            “Check,” he mumbled as he worked his way down her jawline, nibbling here and there at the bare flesh.

            “I’m a hobbit!”

            “Good to know that’s cleared up,” he chuckled, sending shock waves through her as the rumbling laughter made its way through him and into her own core as he trailed large questing hands down her body.

            “I’m much older than you.”

            “Mmhmm, not really,” he began kissing his way down her neck, moving them backwards as he did, hand coming up to cup a plump breast through tight brocade. The heat coming off him sending her mind into spirals of pleasure, to the point she was sure she was going to burst from her own skin.

            “Too much older, I’m middle aged!” Aüle the things he was doing to her ears with that tongue were sinful. It kept her attention away from the swift fingers that were untying her laces, causing the dress to fall and pool at her ample hips. With a growl the dwarf shoved it the rest of the way down, leaving her in a sheer white shift.

            When he nibbled at the sensitive tip, sending a shockwave of sensation down the hobbit lass she gasped, hands convulsing in his shirt as her body arched into his own. The prince took this as perfect timing to make the final push onto the bed looming behind her, and as she fell with a huff of air he crawled onto her, once more delving into her mouth with his own. “Mmm, Kíli!” she gasped as she held him off with her balled fists, panting as she caught her air and her senses.

            The lad didn’t even have the decency to look abashed, just sighed gustily once more as he smiled down on her, rising up on his forearms to look at her as though she were the most ridiculously adorable frustration he’d ever come across, “Bilbo! I’ve an idea, how about you keep listing things and I’ll stop when you come to something I actually care about?” that grin was all sin and promise as he turned his attentions to trailing his fingers over the slowly rising hem of her chemise, taking a moment to grasp at the thick velvety thigh at his disposal, using it to lever her higher onto the bed and himself into the cushioned junction, leaning in to rub his nose across the sensitive skin at her neck, breathing her in as he did so. “ _Mahal_ , I’ve missed you. And you truly are devastation in these gowns. It’s all I can do to keep myself from ripping them off you,” the all but growled comment was accompanied by a swift thrust of hip into her own as a large battle roughened hand clenched her thigh and pulled it around his waist leaving her gasping and groaning as she tried to regain some semblance of control.

            She grasped his face and turned him back up to her, gazing harshly into those deep brown pools, “You deserve better than an old unwanted hobbit of no title or standing,” she refused to acknowledge the sting in her own eyes as she finally came out with the truth of the matter.

            The Durin had the decency to still as he contemplated her statement, staring at her harshly. His eyes went from that soft coffee to an angry black as he stared down into her shimmering amber. Before she could huff enough breath into her rapidly closing throat she found his hands framing her face as he leaned down, forehead gently touching her own, “Even if that weren’t the dumbest thing I’ve heard in my life, and I’m Fíli’s brother, I’ve heard some _idiotic_ things, it would be just too damn bad because you’re all I’m ever going to want.”

            He washed away the tears that fell down her cheeks with his lips before resting a soft and sweet caress onto her own. Looking back up into her still shimmering eyes he continued, “You’re brilliant, my burglar. Smart, cunning, silver tongued,” his eyes trailed over said appendage as it flitted out to dampen dried lips. “Only some of the things that you have to offer, that attract me like a dragon to gold or a dwarf to mithril. But then you’re kind, and sweet. You’ve never had a harsh word for anyone,” here he smirked cheekily staring back into her eyes, “save when they wipe their feet on your _glorybox_ ,” and the way he said that was absolutely _terrible_. She’d never look at the thing the same way again.

            He apparently wasn’t done though as he began to move once more, trailing a hand through her hair, the other bracing him above her, “Not to mention you’re beautiful. Hair like warmed silk and so different; it curls and clings to my figures like it knows my hands belong there. Skin like that caramel you cover your spice cake with, and just as sweet,” of course the impudent thing laid a kiss to the valley between her heaving breasts at that before rising heated eyes to stare at her once more. “Most important, even more than the way I find your freckles fascinating or adore the way the small lines at your eyes tell the story of your happy outlook on life. You love me and I you. So really? The rest is so much dragon shit.”

            His hand left her hair and trailed down to cup her pink cheek, still staring into her eyes with those seeking brown, smile dimmed to something more intense and waiting, “So what say you burglar? Will you marry me?”

            He took the attack on his mouth as a positive response and the talking part of the evening was given over to more pleasurable pursuits.

***

            Dís found the pair wrapped around each other the next morning and damn near threw the boy off the rock. She wasn’t going to have her first grandchild being born out of wedlock damnit!

 


End file.
